Scrabble
by Genis Aurion
Summary: [Slash, KyleKenny, light fluff, oneshot]. Kenny has a very short attention span. He just never wants to finish anything.


style-xx: 1  
Zakuyoe: 2

Light sorta-fluffy KyleKenny slash. Enjoy.

* * *

**Scrabble**

Kenny has a very short attention span.

He just never wants to finish anything. I remember one day when he was baking a Valentine's Day gift for me, he just decided to abandon it and make cookies instead—his oven only chose to remind him about the cake when he wanted to put the cookies in the oven, and trust me it hadn't been too happy.

Hell, I'm sure if he'd even end sex halfway through if something else interested him…

That's probably why I'm not surprised when he tells me, "Kyle, I'm bored."

"Do something then," I mutter in reply.

"There's nothing to do here at your house."

"Play with Ike?"

"No," he replies, leaning on my shoulder. I know he's pouting, which is precisely why I'm not looking at him. "I don't wanna play with him, dude. Last time I played with him he wanted me to command the entire American army during World War I."

"What's bad about that? Do it again; I'm sure he won't mind."

"No, dude!—he keeps insisting that Germany win, but they didn't win the war!"

"Then play a board game or something."

"By myself?"

"Yes, by yourself." I know I probably would've joined him except that I'm to wash the dishes—I know my mother's just assigned it to me as busy work, since she knew Kenny was coming over… damn woman.

"But _that_'s no fun!" Kenny exclaims, and that's when I make the mistake of turning to him. Ah fuck, that _pout_!—but I suppose he's practiced it to fudge money off of Cartman and Token at times…

"Fine!" I exclaim, setting down the silverware on top of the unwashed plates. He smiles and rushes to go get a game, being sure to knock down the entire German army as he went by.

"Scrabble," he says when he gets back.

"I'll own you," I warn him, but he shrugs. It's not long before we're setting up the game, and as we're lying on the ground Kenny looks at me.

"I start."

"No, dude! I drew the fucking A. _I_ start!"

"But Kyle…!" He begins tugging the letter pouch from my grasp but I keep a firm grip. I'm used to his tactics by now… and I'm sure he knows it too.

I place the word _lucky_ on the board.

"Go," I almost order, and he smiles. I swear, as I'm looking into his eyes, I only wished that his blue eyes were just a _bit_ more crystal-like so it'd reflect what tiles he had…

_Yen_.

"Why the heck did you put such a small word?" I cry in disbelief, and he only shrugs.

"Because I felt like it?"—and almost suddenly something comes flying into his head. "Ow!"

"Hypocrite!" Ike yells, throwing another poor American soldier at him. "You didn't let the Germans win when I said I felt like making them win!"

"Ike, stop," I mutter, raising my hand warningly. "Maybe one day, when you learn what the Germans did to the Jews…"—But then again, he is adopted. Ike gives a relented sigh and returns to Germany's brutal massacre.

I place the word _lawn_ on the board.

He uses _fan_.

"Stop with the three letter words!" I yell, biting my lip.

"But I'm not good at this game?"

"Then why'd you choose it?"

"I didn't wanna play Pictionary again."

"Why? Didn't want to draw me blowing you again?"

Kenny remains silent.

"We're gonna make a new rule," I introduce, tapping my letters as I speak. "Gotta put at least three letters down."

"That's bull!"

"But we'll never finish otherwise!" I reason, but he doesn't listen to me.

"Fine, that's it!" he yells tossing his unused tiles into the pouch.

"No—!" I exclaim, and as he turns to me he still has one left in his hand, one that has managed to escape the pouch's doom.

"Let's play something else."

"Again?" I exclaim. "Each time we do something, Kenny… I swear…" He stares at the board for several moments as I look away, and as I'm trying to decide if I should wash the dishes once more he's thinking of what to do next. Seconds… minutes… and still no answer.

"Kenny, I'm gonna go now," I begin, getting up; but he tugs on my sleeve and makes me sit again.

"No, no!" he says, suddenly growing excited. "Look here!"

"Okay…" and as I sit back down he sets the one tile in his hand face down on the table—K.

"I'm not sure how I noticed this—"

"Short attention span," I say quite quickly but all I get is a punch from him.

"Here's the letter K," he says—but that's all he says. I glance at him quickly as he concentrates on rearranging the letters around. The L is shared by both _lawn_ and _lucky_; the Y is shared by _lucky_ and _yen_; and the N is shared by _yen_ and _fan_.

He takes the Y and E from _yen_ and the L from _lucky_, and with the letters he forms my name.

"Okay…" I say, making a sarcastic motion. "_Such_ an accomplishment."

But he isn't done. He takes the W, the A and the N from _lawn_, as well as the A and the N from _fan_, and with that he forms the word _wanna_ two rows above my name.

And as I stare at the remaining letters I chuckle slightly, now knowing exactly where he's going.

"Wanna?" he asks me, and I play along.

"Oh what-so-ever are you talking about?" I say, lowering my voice because Ike isn't too far away from us.

He smiles, nodding his back to the board. _Lawn_ is completely gone from the board now, and the only letters left now are the U C K from _lucky_, and—of course—the F from _fan_.

"Wanna fuck, Kyle?"—and I nod profusely.

I glance back to the kitchen. "Fuck the dishes."

"Maybe later," he whispers, tugging on my sleeve and carrying me away. I swear, sometimes Kenny has the shortest attention span ever—but sometimes it's a good thing. I mean, if every time he switched activities ended up with us having hot moments of sex, I'd make sure I kept giving him bored things to do.

Of course, that plan could always backfire, which is why I make sure _I'm_ the one on top of _him_, that _I'm_ the one who's blocking his only escape route off my bed, that _I'm_ the one blowing _him—_I don't wanna be left hanging the minute he decides that there's something better out there than having sex with his boyfriend.


End file.
